Things I Never Thought I Would Do (Revisited)

This post originally appeared on my blog in August 2012. I’m re-posting it today because it (almost) perfectly fits one of Mama Kat’s prompts this week. It’s a few more items than the prompt asks for, but I couldn’t possibly choose…so I’m going with it.

Once upon a time, I was completely non-girly.  Femininity is one thing, but girly-ness is a whole other state of being.  I did not cry at sappy love stories.  Anything sparkly, ruffle-laden, or pink would cause me to roll my eyes and make retching sounds. Princess movies did not make me swoon and the sight of a baby did not make my uterus sit up and say “awwww.”

And then My Daughter happened.First of all, She was supposed to be a He.  By “supposed to” I mean “I was convinced the child was a boy.”  Part of our scientific reasoning was based on the fact that for three and a half months of my pregnancy, Kidzilla demanded that I eat only Kraft Easy Mac. After that, Kidzilla demanded steak.  A lot.  These were the eating habits of the Fab Dad, so in our minds, Kidzilla was a boy child.  We picked out boy names and bought a few gender-neutral items of clothing that really leaned to the boy side of fashion.   We were so convinced we were having a boy that other people believed us.  When Zilla was born and the nurse said “it’s a girl” to our waiting families, my Sister said “are you sure???”

Fab Hub and I did not want to know the sex of our offspring ahead of time, but we were so sure we would have a boy.  Boys were simple, we figured, so we wanted that.  Toss them a pair of jeans and a few sweatshirts and they’re clothed until they hit puberty.  No drama, no stereotypical meltdowns, no pink girly nonsense.

But Kidzilla came out a girl.   A seriously pink girl complete with ruffles, sparkles, hair bows, and an innate love for all things Princess.

Life changes when you have a child.  You do things like learn to live without sleep or a shower.  You learn to tolerate spit on your clothing.  You are unimpressed by projectile vomit.  (Projectile poop is another story for another time, however.)

And you adopt new habits that you thought only your Mother did.  For example, I clean my refrigerator.  I am fairly certain single people do not clean the inside of the refrigerator.  Nor do married people with no children.  But when you have a Small Person in your care eating things that come from inside your refrigerator, you cannot take chances that the science project living in the back might find a way to infiltrate the single-pack applesauce.

But aside from these standards, I have lately taken inventory of some specific habits that I have adopted in the era we like to call Since Kidzilla.

1. I paint my fingernails.  Why?  Because Kidzilla thinks it’s cool.  She also thinks it’s cool if we paint our nails the same color.  She gets to select the color, of course.  Most recently, I have been seen wearing shades with names such as Violet Voltage and Twisted Pink.
2. I participate in Matching Outfit Days.  Sometimes Zilla wants our clothing to match, either in color scheme or in actual identical matching.  Just the other night we ate dinner in matching black sweats, blue t-shirts and green hair ribbons.  She even wanted our undies to be the same.  She looked at me skeptically when I explained to her that the Underwear People don’t make bras in her size or Disney Princess panties in mine.
3. I stomp in puddles.  This is a big one for me.  First of all, I was terrified of puddles as a kid.  I think my Mom told me that her Grandmother told her you could catch ringworm or something from stomping in puddles.  This sounded bad.  I did not stomp in puddles.  But on rainy days, we splash in puddles.  Big ones.  We get really wet and laugh a lot.
4. I own rain boots.  See above.  It was a necessity.  Puddle stomping in dress shoes is a very bad idea.
5. I hunt for snails.  After a good rain, our front walk is covered with a large snail population.  Worms, too.  We hunt for them.  We compare sizes, watch which ones move faster down the driveway (?), and photograph them.
6. I sing.  Zilla’s most frequent directive is “Sing, Mamma.”  I sing to her and with her any time she asks.  I sing when I think about her.  I sing when I am frustrated with her latest bout of tantruming/whining/four-year-old-girling.  Sometimes, I don’t even know I’m doing it and Zilla asks, “what are you singing?”  Once I figure it out, she listens a couple of times, we sing it together a few more, and then that girl owns another song in her vast repertoire.
7. I photograph crocodiles, teddy bears, and other sundry items because She asks or because she would think they are cool.  I think it started on a day when she had a stuffed Beary with her in the car on the way to preschool.  School doesn’t want home toys to show up at school on non-home-toy days.  I assured her that Beary would help me at work, and then come along to pick her up later.  She looked uncertain.  She asked for photographic evidence.  I complied.  Since then it has often been an intentional game.  One day I joined a friend for lunch and she had a lunch date at home with Fab Dad.  “Mom, wait,” she called as I was leaving. “You have to take Chompy with you.  Make sure you show me that he went to lunch with you.”  Got it.  Fab Dad/Hub does not hesitate when I say “stand in front of that two-story tall holiday-lighted reindeer so I can send a picture to Zilla.”
8. I purchase all manner of Princess-related items.  OK, the love stories are positively dreamy (ugh) and I love chivalry as much as the next person.  I make sure that in addition to the standards, we celebrate the modern women like Princess Tiana (who starts her own business, thank you very much), Princess Merida, The Paper Bag Princess, and The Princess Who Saved Herself.  She loves them all.  Me too.
9. I cry.  A lot.  Not because I am miserable or sad or anything like that.  Because everything makes me think of my Zilla – something she has done or said, something she might do one day when she’s older.  It could be a movie, a story, a song – anything. (Listen to Martina McBride’s “In My Daughter’s Eyes” and try not to cry. I dare you.)
10. I pray more than I have ever prayed about anything in my life.  I pray for her to be happy, to be safe, to be healthy.  I pray that nobody makes her sad.  I pray that she will be strong and kind and confident.  I pray that no harm will befall her parents before she is darn good and able to handle it.  I pray that she has a good day at school.  I pray, I pray, I pray…
11. I laugh.  A lot.  Because Kidzilla makes me deliriously happy, even when She is driving me insane.  And because Kidzilla is a funny kid – like really funny.  Her comedic timing is impeccable.
12. I wear pink.  I wear pink and orange together.   I hunt down plastic butterflies with pink and orange wings for birthday cakes and hair bows in precisely the right shades to match any given outfit.  I wear sparkles.  And I do it without the eye rolls and retching noises. Most of the time.

Life with Zilla is a whole lot pinker than we expected.  Not in one million years did I ever think I would do any of these things or the dozens of others I could list.  But I do…

         

…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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